Too Good Girl

by Eleanor Lloyd-Jones

  I held the bottle out to her and she took it, sipping from it as I picked up the oars again and continued rowing further out to sea.

  We finally reached the bottom of the fort, the boat rocking on top of the water, the waves a little choppier now, and I stood up, tying the rope to the metal structures that led up to the galley area. Once it was secured, I held my hands out for Syra, and she took them, her legs shaky as she stood, her eyes wide and unsure.

  “I’ve got you. Okay?”

  She took tentative steps towards me until we were almost nose to nose. I could hear her laboured breaths, and I squeezed her hands in reassurance. Raising my voice a little over the sound of the wind and the waves, I dipped my chin, catching her eyes, ensuring she was hearing and understanding me. “I need you to step out onto the rungs of that ladder then I’ll help you onto the gangway, okay?”

  She nodded, and I manoeuvred so that she could get past me.

  I placed my hands on her hips to steady her. “Grab the rung and pull yourself up.”

  With her hair whipping around her face, she reached out, her whole body trembling, and then stopped, shaking her head and shouting back over her shoulder. “I can’t, Jack. I can’t do it.”

  “You can. Reach out. I’ve got you, I promise.”

  “Jack, please. I can’t do it.”

  Gently, and being careful she didn’t lose her footing, I turned her back to face me. I cupped her cold cheeks and lifted her face so she was looking at me. “Syra Johnson, you can. You have so much fucking strength in you; you need to dig deep and find it for me, okay? Once you’re on the platform, I can carry you up the rest of the way. You need to do this one thing. Okay?” I gave her a small shake, squeezing slightly on her cheeks to hammer my words home. “You can do this.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but she eventually nodded, inhaling deeply and covering my hands with hers. “Okay.”

  “Okay. Now turn back around and I’ll hold you steady until you have a grip.”

  She swiped at her face and turned, the blanket slipping from her shoulders, and I grabbed hold of her hips again as she reached out, this time curling her fingers around the rung and holding on tight.

  “Good! Now climb.”

  I felt her body tense as she lifted her foot up and out of the boat. I watched from behind her, but as she placed it on the bottom rung and shifted her weight, her foot slipped, a scream shooting from the back of her throat as she stumbled and fell forwards, causing the boat to move backwards leaving her stretched across the open water.

  “Shit!” Grabbing her around the waist, I hauled her up and back into the boat, holding onto her tightly as she whimpered and caught her breath.

  She broke down, clinging to my shirt. “I can’t. I can’t do it.”

  Sitting back down, I pulled her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her and letting her cry. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

  “I’m so tired, Jack. I’m so fucking tired. I just want to sleep.”

  “I know. I need to get you up there and inside so you can do exactly that. I need to figure it out.” I looked up at the ladder leading to the galley. There were five rungs. If I could get myself on to it and then…

  “Right. Listen to me.”

  She sat up, wiping her tears, and I stroked the back of her head, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead.

  “I’m going to climb onto the ladder. Once I’m on there, I need you to come to the end of the boat and I will lift you, Okay? Can you do that?”

  She turned her head to look back at the ladder and then at me, holding onto my forearms as she stood herself up and made space for me to walk back to the end of the boat. “Okay.”

  I blew out a short sharp breath and took the three steps to the ladder, grabbing the top rung with my hands and pulling myself up so I was standing on it. I wrapped my right arm around to hold me fast and turned my body to face her, reaching out with my left hand. The wind was wilder now, and it had begun to rain, causing the metal rungs to be even more slippy.

  I had no time to waste.

  She walked carefully over to me, taking my hand, and as soon as she was close enough, I wrapped my arm around her waist, hoisting her up and onto my body so she didn't have a chance to back out. Shouting through the noise of the elements, I instructed her to grab hold of the top rung, and as soon as she had, I pushed her body upwards, giving her the power she needed to climb onto the platform. She crawled on her hands and knees to the metal wall and curled herself up against it to protect herself from the rain and the fear that was shining from her face.

  I grinned at her, proud of her for trusting me, and shouted again, louder this time. “I’m going back into the boat. I’m going to fling everything up onto here. I need you to pull it all back there with you.”

  “Hurry, Jack. I don’t like this. It’s dangerous.”

  “Stay there.” Ducking down, I grabbed the bags and boxes I’d managed to squeeze into the tiny space, slinging them up onto the platform before going back for the rest. Ten minutes later, I was securing the boat tighter and closer to the legs of the giant structure, and then helping Syra to her feet so I could carry her up the next ladder.

  She weighed nothing, but climbing up the narrow ladder, having to grip on and hold her at the same time, wasn’t easy. In the end, she climbed onto my back and we finally reached the top unscathed.

  I’d been hiding out in the forts since I was old enough to row a boat, always at night, and always alone. Always when I needed time to think or get away from the stresses of life. My uncle had told me about the forts when I was barely seven years old. He’d pointed out to sea and told tales of soldiers and battles, of fighter planes and brave men who fought for our country. I’d vowed that day that I would find a boat and I would see these forts for myself. And I did. When I was thirteen, I borrowed from a small flotilla that sat, unused, at the far end of the beach. They were old, wooden boats, much like the one I’d obtained tonight, tied up with thick rope to the groynes that were buried deep in the sand. I took a small packet of sandwiches and a bottle of water, and when the beach cleared and there was no one left in sight, I’d rowed with all the strength I had.

  The first time I visited, I was in complete awe of the place. I couldn’t believe the size of it, how it was still full of the old furnishings: beds, chairs, rugs and tables. There were used candles and a kettle, towels and discarded clothes. It was as if someone had left in a hurry and never returned, and there was something quite eerie about that. I’d spent the time exploring, working out which doors I could get through, testing out the comfort of the beds, and finally falling asleep in one of the armchairs.

  I’d gotten into so much trouble the next day when I finally returned home, but I never told anyone where I’d been. It had remained my secret, until now.

  As we stood on the platform, the wind grabbing at our clothes and hair, I took a moment to breathe, to rest my aching limbs and to look at Syra. She stood with her back to me, her arms on top of the railing as she scanned the open ocean.

  I’d missed her.

  I’d missed having her around so fucking much, and having her here—in my safe place—was everything.

  Jack

  On The Other Side by Phil Laure

  Human (IV Fridays) by Brooke Fraser

  “WOW. LOOK AT THIS PLACE.”

  I moved past her with a bag of candles, setting them up on various surfaces and lighting them all. The more of the room that came into view, the more wide-eyed she became.

  “It’s like something out of a dystopian novel.”

  “Pretty cool, huh?” I unpacked bags and pottered around while she moved slowly through the main room, her fingers trailing and dancing over the rusting objects and second hand, worn-out furnishings. “Are you hungry?” I turned my head to see her disappear in the direction of the bedroom and shouted louder. “Sy. Food?”

  “Sure.” Her voice carried back to me, and I pulled o
ut a bag of dry pasta and a tin of tomatoes before connecting the gas bottle to the portable stove.

  “What’s through here?”

  “Beds. Toilets.” I smiled to myself as I poured the pasta into a pan. I was going to fight hard and fight fast to keep her from the hurt she buried. I was going to nurture her, even if it took me all my life, so that she felt she could open up to me and let me carry some of her pain. She needed to live. And I was going to show her how.

  I busied myself with making the sauce, allowing her to familiarise herself with the surroundings, and made us both a warm drink. When she hadn’t reappeared after almost ten minutes, I went looking for her, stopping dead at the doorway to the bedroom, my heart aching but my conscience clear. Curled up in the middle of one of the beds, she lay, fast asleep, a peaceful expression on her face and her hair fanned out around her.

  Moving quietly into the room, I grabbed blankets from one of the other beds, covering her up and making sure they were tucked around her.

  She could recover and gain her strength without being under the scrutiny of anyone else now. She was away from the harmful substances she’d begun to take a liking to, she was hidden from Doug and his toxic plans and she was away from the men—the men she felt she needed but who took and took from her, surely emptying her a little more each time, despite her protestations.

  I finished making the food, sitting down to eat and then clearing away the dishes and spooning a portion into a bowl for Syra before slumping into the armchair. Laying my head back, I closed my eyes, but restlessness kept my mind whirring, the events of the last few weeks playing on repeat. I picked up my drink and walked out onto the galley platform, leaning on the railing and looking out to sea. I’d witness all weathers up here but none quite so beautiful as a cloudless night where the cold air bit at your skin and the stars revealed their stories. It was nights like this one that I could forget the parts of my life that were tough. I could feel grateful for the little things: my health, the fact I earned enough money to feed and clothe myself, that I wasn’t living on the streets. I didn’t want much from life. I wasn’t interested in being rich or overly successful in my work. I didn’t feel the need to compete for the best things. I was more than happy to plod along, doing what I needed to to survive. But there was one thing I longed for, and that was Syra.

  I’d found her sleeping in a shop doorway the first time. She’d been without clean clothes, without money, and I’d have walked past her without a second thought had it not been for the fact she looked up at me with those eyes that I loved so much. There was a sadness in them that I’d never encountered before, and I was compelled to intervene.

  She’d knocked the wind out of me.

  She had been sixteen, a vulnerable scrap of a thing, and that first time, she’d refused my help. She’d almost hissed me away, feral in nature, and fiercely independent, and it was that wild streak in her that had me going back the next night. There was a fight in her that I needed to release, and I’d been trying ever since.

  “What you doing?”

  I turned my head to see Syra in the doorway, wrapped in blankets, her hair wild, and her eyes sleepy. “Just taking in the view.”

  She stood beside me, resting her head on my shoulder, and stared out to sea in the same way I was doing.

  “I thought you were sleeping.”

  She remained silent for a few seconds, and I looked down at her face, the profile of it silhouetted by the light of the candles from inside. Even in the dark she was stunningly beautiful. Even when I couldn’t make out her features, she glowed with this inner strength that she needed to learn to unlock.

  “I was. But I woke up. Bad dream.”

  Standing straight, I turned towards her, resting my arm on the railing. “Bogeymen?”

  She smiled a sad smile. “Something like that. Was a bit hazy.” Her forehead twitched into a frown as if she were searching for a clue or a memory to help pull what she was scared of back into focus.

  Could she remember? Did she have any idea that she’d been abused like a rag doll only days ago? Part of me hoped she never would. To relive that with a clear head would be traumatic, and knowing Syra as I did, it worried me that she would fall deeper, harder. But of course she needed to remember. She needed to move forwards and cleanse herself of all the crap so she could start living again.

  I wanted to tell her, but I knew it wasn't the way to deal with it. She’d be detached from it and unable to work her way through the emotional damage. She needed to remember for herself, and I needed to be by her side when she did. I hoped above all that she would talk to me when the memory came back because if she didn’t… well I didn’t want to think about how keeping it ot herself would affect her.

  “Where did you find me?”

  I flicked my eyes to hers that were now turned on me, that sadness illuminated by the moon.

  “How did you know where I’d be?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t. I got lucky. I went to the house first, to apologise…” I clenched my back teeth, guilt tearing at my insides.

  For leaving and for not being there when you needed me.

  I looked back out across the dark ocean. “And when you weren’t there, I assumed you were working at the club.”

  Reaching up, she fingered the zip on my jacket, her eyes following the movement of them. “You don’t have to be there for me all the time. I’m not your problem. Why do you insist on trying to save me?”

  I closed my hand over hers and she lifted her chin to look at me.

  “Because I care, Sy. You know this. If I hadn’t have come looking for you, I don’t even want to think about what might have happened.”

  Her soft and oh so temptingly full bottom lip trembled, and I caught it with my thumb, the memory of it pressed against mine almost too vivid to suppress. My desires to have her wholly and completely needed to be squashed for the time being. She was fragile and she was broken and she needed time to heal.

  “Hey.” I shook my head. “None of that. Okay? Let’s get you some food and then back into bed so you can rest. I’ve just smuggled you out of hospital, so I need to play doctor now. And doctor says it’s sleep time. Okay? We can talk more tomorrow.”

  She blinked, causing a couple of rogue tears to splash onto her face. I wanted so badly to kiss them away, to taste them so I could better understand her heart and how to unlock it, to feel the bitterness of her past on my tongue and the damage it had done. But instead I moved my thumb and caught them, swiping gently over the apple of her cheek. It hurt so badly to see her cry. She’d hidden that side of her away from me for so long, and that in itself broke me inside. This girl was dealing with all of her demons internally and without any help.

  I had to change that.

  ***

  I woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and the sound of gulls. Rolling onto my back, I flopped my arm over my forehead and stared up at the rusty ceiling, listening to the waves as they rushed up against the huge structure, the sound of chains clanging against metal and the way the wind whistled through the small windows. I’d never tired of the calm feeling of being completely content, and lying there, knowing Syra was pottering around in the next room, that feeling was multiplied. She was part of me. She completed me, and I was filled with a hope for the future that she would let me in and allow me to complete her too.

  Stretching and flinging the blankets from my body, I swung my legs from the bed, planting my feet on the floor and leaning forwards, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, my palms scrubbing up and down my face and the light stubble that was now dusting my jaw. A noise had me halting in my movements and I peered up through my fingers to see Syra standing awkwardly in the doorway, a drink in her hand, her eyes anywhere but on me.

  I dragged my fingers down to my mouth, a small twitch in my lips that I tried to hide, realising why she was so uncomfortable as I sat there in nothing but my boxers. “Morning.” I dropped my hands onto my thig
hs and sat straight. “Is that for me?”

  She finally looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Yes. Put some damn clothes on and come and get it.” She spun around and walked back to where she’d come from, and I chuckled. She was still in there somewhere: my feisty, challenging girl.

  I shoved myself into the T-shirt and joggers I’d packed and sauntered out into the living area where she sat curled up in the armchair, nursing her drink.

  I sat opposite her. “How did you sleep?”

  Eyeing me over the top of her mug, she shrugged. “I’ve slept worse. I’ve also slept better. Didn’t help that you were snoring like some kind of wild boar.”

  My eyebrows jumped up my forehead. “I do not snore, madam.”

  “Oh you do.”

  Waving her words away with the flip of my hand I stood and grabbed the drink she’d made for me. “Well you can go back to bed and sleep now if you’re still tired. I hadn’t planned any day trips today aside from maybe a daytime tour and sightseeing over the railing in the sunshine.” I glanced over my shoulder to peer out of the doorway. “Except it looks like it’s going to rain.”

  ‘Day trips? We are in the middle of the ocean.”

  “It was a joke. We are mostly stuck here until…” I wasn’t sure what the next part of my sentence was going to be or needed to be. I wasn’t entirely sure how our immediate future was going to play out. All I’d planned was to get her away from everyone and everything. Beyond that, I didn’t have a clue. I supposed it would depend on what memories revealed themselves to her, whether she wanted to do anything about them and how that would even play out. Going up against Doug would be dangerous, and if she were to report the rape, there was no doubt that the law would do a full investigation where he was at risk of exposure for who he really was.

  “Until?”

  “You hungry?”

  “Until what?”

  I shrugged. “Until nothing really.”

  “You were going to say something and then you stopped. We are stuck here until what?”